__Happiest Girl in the Whole U.S.A.__ copyright 1972 performed by Donna
Fargo. If you wanna hear some of it, cdnow has a clip for Real Audio and
Windows Media on an album called country hits of the 70's.
(Chapter 24. December 11. Olivia's place.)
Olivia woke to the golden glow of the rising sun striking her blinds. She and Steve had finally fallen asleep curving into each other like two spoons. The weight of his arm wrapped around her waist made her feel safe and secure. It was a barely familiar, distantly remembered sensation. His body was warm against her back, and the hair on his legs tickled the backs of her thighs. She stifled a giggle for fear of waking him, and slipped out of bed, careful not to let the cool air beneath the covers.
It was barely dawn, and while she had a busy day planned, it didn't need to start for a few more hours. Slipping into her fuzzy yellow robe and her overstuffed elephant slippers, she shuffled to the kitchen. She had remembered to set the timer on the coffee maker the night before, so there was a steaming pot ready and waiting. Once she started some sausage links sizzling in the skillet, she greased and heated the double-burner griddle and whipped together some eggs, milk and vanilla. Then she sliced off some homemade bread, dipped the slices in the batter, and placed them on the griddle. By now, she was humming to herself, some half-remembered melody of happiness and light.
While the French toast was cooking, she got some chocolate syrup and a few strawberries out of the refrigerator. She sprinkled the wet side of the French toast slices with nutmeg and flipped them over. The she rinsed the berries, sliced them almost all the way to the caps, fanned them out, and dipped them in the chocolate. The French toast was done now, and she cut each slice from corner to corner. Fanning the triangles out on two plates, she buttered them, drizzled them with chocolate and real strawberry syrup she had bought at the farmer's market, and garnished them with fresh strawberries.
As she tried to remember the words to song she was humming, she got two stacking lap trays from the cupboard beside the sink, and put the plates on them. Then she took two small glass dishes and filled them with melon balls, bananas, kiwi, and strawberries and poured some honey-lemon dressing over the fruit. As the sausages finished cooking, she slipped off to the mudroom to pick some marigolds, and put them in a bud vase on Steve's tray. The sausages were nicely done when she got back, and she put them on two small plates, freshened her coffee, poured Steve a steaming mug of the potent brew, set the cream and sugar on her tray, stacked one tray on top of the other, and carried the lot into the bedroom, singing, "Skippity-doo- dah, thank You, Lord, for making him for me. And thank you for letting life turn out the way that I always knew it could be." She sang scat for the rest of it, remembering the melody but forgetting the words.
Steve was still sleeping, now with his arms wrapped snugly around her pillow. She was surprised how innocent he looked. She knew from seeing many patients in their sleep that rest often carried away pain, sorrow, and years, but the transformation never failed to amaze her. She set the trays carefully on the nightstand and, still humming her song, woke Steve with gentle kisses at his temple, on his hair, his ear, at the corner of his mouth. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he woke with a smile and she said, "Good morning, darling."
She could see that it was taking him a moment to get his bearings. He rubbed his face and shook his head, and as understanding dawned, the smile he woke with turned into a grin that nearly split his face. "Good morning, beautiful. Is that breakfast I smell?"
"Not just breakfast, babe. Breakfast in bed."
"Mmmmmmmm. You spoil me."
Olivia laughed as she settled cross-legged on the bed beside him, facing him with her tray in front of her and said, "Last night was nice."
Steve smiled widely and said, "I thought so, too. That song you were humming, it must be twenty-five years old."
"My mama used to play it every morning while she and Daddy got ready for work and got all us kids off to school. I can only remember the melody and a couple lines of the lyrics."
Steve grinned smugly and asked, "So, you don't remember the title, do you?"
She shrugged and said, "I'm afraid not. Why? Do you recognize it?"
Steve started to laugh, and said, "Yeah. It's called 'The Happiest Girl..."
"...in the Whole U.S.A!'" Olivia finished, for him. "Well, you must be *so* proud of yourself," she said half-sarcastically.
Steve put his hands in the air as if to show he didn't want a fight and said, "Hey sweetheart, it's *your* song. I would *never* presume to think I was *that* good."
"Yeah, sure you wouldn't," she laughed with him. "So where do you have to be, and when do you have to get there?"
"I ought to call Dad soon, to let him know I'm still here, but I don't have to meet Davis until after lunch. All I need to do before then is get a shower and change my clothes."
She nodded and said, "Ok. I have to go in from noon to eight. It's barely past seven o'clock. You want to hang out here a while, then I can take you home to change? I can drive you in to the hospital, and if your dad's there, he can give you a lift home, and if not, I can."
"Are you sure you want to do that, sweetie? It could mean two extra trips out to Malibu and back. If Dad's going in to work, I could just have him bring me a change of clothes, and I could ride home with him too, then."
Olivia shrugged her shoulders and said, "If it works for you it works for me. I'd love to come out to Malibu, but I have a long day ahead of me, and I'd rather not have to drive back after dark."
"Ok." Steve picked up the bedside phone and said, "I'll call Dad and let him know what's up. Of course," he added hopefully, "you're welcome to come out any way and spend the night."
Olivia giggled and said, "I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you, and I'm not comfortable doing that in your dad's house."
Steve grinned, and said, "Ok. I understand, I wouldn't want Gigglefits to keep my dad awake."
He called home and arranged for Mark to bring him clothes and take him home after physical therapy. Finally, with his plans for the day made, he finished his breakfast with great relish.
"You know," Steve said as he washed the last of his French toast down with a swallow of coffee, "You really are a great cook. That breakfast was delicious."
"Well, thank you, babe." Olivia smiled as she kissed a drop of syrup from his chin. "The only thing I ever thought about doing besides being a doctor was to have one of those cooking shows on PBS. It would be called, 'What Have We Got in the 'Fridge Today?' because that's the way I cook. Open the door, see what's in there, and throw it together. My show would come right between Julia Child and the Frugal Gourmet."
"You really wanted to do that, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Does it surprise you?"
Steve thought about it a minute and said, "No, not really. You seem like the kind of woman who really likes to be at home in the kitchen with family and friends." He smiled dreamily and said, "I can see you on Christmas morning, with about a dozen kids running around, and some man who doesn't know how lucky he is trying to stay out of the way. You're making French toast and sausage and eggs and all the good stuff for everyone before you open the presents. You're smiling and humming a Christmas carol, and you have everything you want in life."
Olivia burst out laughing.
"You find that funny?"
"Steve, I'm thirty-five years old. I'll never have a dozen kids."
"Well," he tried to explain, "Maybe they're not all yours."
"And maybe it's an alternate universe." She set their trays on the nightstand and curled up beside him under the covers with her head resting on his shoulder. "It's a nice fantasy, though. If things had been different for me twenty years ago, it might have been the truth today."
"Actually," Steve said, "I'm glad it's not that way. If it were, you wouldn't be here with me now." He kissed her temple.
She turned toward him with a giggle and said, "You know, we have three hours before we have to think about leaving. We could do a lot in three hours."
Steve grinned and said, "We certainly could." A sudden panic rose in his chest, and he sat bolt upright in the bed and said, "Liv, this may be the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. I have to ask you now. I was so...overcome last night...I've never forgotten before, but last night...I didn't...what I mean is I forgot..."
Olivia giggled again and said, "Relax, babe, I was on the pill a month before I gave you that key. It's effective now."
He looked down at her and grinned. "Well, then, there's nothing to worry about, is there?"
She giggled, pulled him down to her, gave him an electric kiss, and said, "Nope."
"That's what you think." He attacked her with a growl, and she pretended to fight back with a giggle.
Some time later, they were lying in bed together, facing each other across a shared pillow, and whispering sweet nothings.
"Your eyes are the bluest I've ever seen." Olivia said, "I could get lost in them for days."
Steve told her, "I love to watch your mouth when you talk. It's very sexy, and when it smiles, your eyes light up."
"I wish we could spend the rest of our lives here," she said. Her fingers were dancing lightly back and forth across his chest, and every now and then, they landed on one of the scars there.
Steve caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth for a kiss. He stared at her for a long time and waited for her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, he told her, "I have something I need to say to you, but I'm not sure how to go about it. I need you to be patient and listen, ok?"
Olivia gave him that sweet smile he loved so much and nodded.
"On Thanksgiving, when you left Carol and me alone to talk, I asked her what she thought of you, and she said you were too young for me. You were too immature."
"I can't imagine where she got that idea," Olivia said. "I picked her up at the airport in my jammies, with my hair in pigtails, driving the jeep."
Steve laughed. "Well, I told her I thought she was wrong and explained that regardless of how you behaved, you had seen enough of life to be a good match for me."
There was a long pause that Olivia finally decided to break. "Steve, if you want to try this later..."
"No, Liv, now's the time." He choked down the frog in his throat and continued, "Last night, when you...insisted...on seeing... all of me..."
Steve paused again. Olivia stroked his face and said, "Yes?"
"I'm so glad you did that. You taught me something." His eyes were stinging with tears unshed, and, he noticed, she, too was on the verge of weeping. "I could have gone my whole life not...knowing. I didn't think anyone could look at me again and not be...repelled. I can't really explain what I learned last night. I'm not sure I fully understand it, but whatever happens between us from now on, I'll always be grateful and stronger for it. Thank you."
She kissed him softly and took his hand. She guided it up under her bangs and pressed it to her forehead asking, "Do you feel that?"
He felt a lump under the skin, gasped, and said, "Yes."
She guided his hand to her right temple and said, "Do you feel that?"
Again, he could feel a lump. "Yes."
Again and again, she guided his hand over her face. Each time there was a lump or a fissure that shouldn't be there. Finally, she said, "We all have our scars, Steve. It's just that some of us carry them on the inside, and they are not so nobly earned. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "I think so." Touching the knot on her forehead again, he asked, "How did it happen, Liv?"
She took a deep breath and told him, "I was twenty-four years old, and I tried to kill myself by driving a car ninety miles an hour into the base of a cliff. It was my fourth suicide attempt in ten years. I always tried to make it look like an accident because I didn't want people living with the guilt of knowing they weren't there to stop me. Once I swam in under the roots of a tree in the river and tried to drown myself. Another time I 'fell' from the top of the stadium after cheerleading practice, and once I got roaring drunk and ran the jeep in a closed garage. I still don't know what went wrong the last time, but I'm glad something did. I had a gifted plastic surgeon, and no one but me ever notices, but sometimes, when I first look in the mirror in the morning, I see a stranger looking back at me."
Steve kissed her gently on the forehead and said, "When that happens, look into your eyes, Liv. Everything that's in you shines out of your eyes."
He was gratified to see her smile. Then she said, "I guess I'm telling you this now because, if you can see the ugliness inside me and not turn away, maybe you'll understand why I can look at your scars and see beauty there. Maybe you'll understand better what you learned last night. Maybe you'll find out that you really knew it all along."
He stared into her eyes for a long, long time. Finally, he said, "I can see inside you, Liv, and I see no ugliness there. I see a strength that knows no limit. I see a faith greater than any I will ever have. I see a spirit what will not be beaten. I see a genius for living joyfully. I see contagious good humor. I see some sadness you have not let go, but I also see a light of beauty and goodness that will never let the sadness darken you soul. I see everything I want in this world in your eyes, Liv."
He pulled her to him and held her tight. He heard her murmur against his chest, "There's a lot you still don't know about me."
"That's ok," he reassured her, "I know all I need to know already."
It was four fifteen in the afternoon, and Steve was riding home alongside his dad. They had decided to rent a movie and spend the evening together. Mark could tell his son wanted to discuss some important matters by the way he sat so still and quiet in the passenger seat. He decided not to push; Steve would broach the subject, whatever it may be, in his own good time.
When they got home, Mark asked, "You hungry?"
To his surprise, Steve answered, "No, not really. Look, Dad, I'm going for a walk on the beach. I...need to think about some things. I'll need to talk to you when I get back. Will that be ok?"
"Sure son, whatever you want. I'll make some dinner, maybe you'll feel like eating when you get back."
Steve nodded and headed out. As he set the table and prepared the meal, Mark kept peeking out the sliding glass doors to the deck to check on his son. By a quarter to five, Steve still hadn't gone for much of a walk. He just stood there throwing rocks into the ocean. As Mark watched, Steve turned south and started to jog along the beach at an easy pace. He knew he wouldn't be gone long; there was only a half an hour of daylight left.
Mark was pleased and quite amazed at his son's recovery. Just four months ago, he had thought Steve might never walk again, and now he was jogging on the beach. Jesse and Amanda had been right about Olivia. Where his son was concerned, she somehow knew things no one else could. He'd seen her with Steve on several occasions when he was ill at ease or frustrated or worried, and somehow, she had put things right. On the one hand, it disturbed Mark that she could read his own son even better than he could, but on the other hand, it gratified him immensely. He knew Steve was in love with her, and he was glad she was so sensitive to his moods. His son deserved someone as compassionate and nurturing as Olivia.
Half an hour later, Mark heard Steve come bounding up the steps from his downstairs apartment. He'd moved back downstairs only a week after he'd returned home, and had been staying there for the past three weeks. Mark had to smile. Things in the Sloan household were slowly getting back to normal. Soon Steve would be back to work, and, as much as he worried about his son, Mark would be happy for him then.
Steve sniffed the air and said, "Mmm. It smells great. What's for dinner?"
Mark laughed and said, "Oh, so, now you're hungry!"
Steve shrugged good-naturedly and said, "What can I say? Thinking gives me an appetite."
Mark laughed, "Everything gives you an appetite. Do you want to talk now?"
Steve shook his head and said, "I want to eat now, but I still need to talk to you about some things later, ok, Dad?"
Mark nodded, "Ok, son. That's fine."
"So, you never said, what's for dinner?"
"Well, it seemed like you might be in the mood for some comfort food, so I fixed a pot of vegetable soup and some fresh rolls. I figured we could have ice cream for dessert if you want."
"Thanks, Dad, that sounds great."
The two men ate in virtual silence, Steve dedicating himself to the task as if it were a religious ritual, Mark trying unobtrusively to observe his son and divine the matters that had him so preoccupied. Finally, Mark could no longer maintain the silence.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, son. Is everything all right?"
Steve shrugged and said, "Nothing's wrong, really. It's just that what's on my mind doesn't make for very good dinner conversation. After we eat and clean up, maybe we can go into the living room and talk."
"Ok, Steve, but if something's bothering you, putting it off won't make it any easier."
"I know, Dad, but I want to enjoy my dinner before we tackle anything more serious than deciding what flavor ice cream to have for dessert."
They finished the meal in silence, cleared the table, and opened a half- gallon of Neapolitan ice cream Mark had bought the day before. Steve, as usual, took mostly chocolate, and Mark dove into the strawberry. After putting the carton back into the refrigerator, Steve caught his father's eye and jerked his head in the direction of the living room.
Mark gave a silent sigh of relief. Steve was finally ready to talk.
"So," he said, "I guess this is the kind of discussion that will go down better with ice cream, huh?"
Steve smiled a little and said, "I guess, or maybe I'm just tired of putting it off."
In the living room, Mark settled comfortably into the easy chair as Steve took a seat on the couch. He noticed with some pride that Steve made sure to keep his feet flat on the floor and pointing straight ahead as Olivia had recommended yesterday. Steve still hoped to go back to work by New Years, and he was doing everything possible to improve his odds. Mark admired his determination.
They each enjoyed a couple spoonfuls of ice cream before Mark opened the conversation. "Ok, son, what's on your mind?"
"Olivia."
Mark laughed and said, "I figured that, but could you be more specific?"
"On Thanksgiving, when I called you into the bathroom to help me, did you happen to notice my scars?"
Mark thought a moment and said, "Not especially. I was more concerned with helping you to sit down before you fell down, but I imagine they're pretty bad."
Steve nodded. "It's been bothering me for a couple months. I know it seems vain and shallow, but I'd never felt ugly before. It really had me down, maybe I'd even call it depressed."
"Son, you're lucky to be alive. Consider that and a few scars might not matter so much."
"I tried that, Dad, and it didn't help." Steve lapsed into silence again for several moments. When he continued, it was with some hesitation. "I...guess you have a good enough idea what...Olivia and I did last night."
"Son, you're both adults. You don't need my approval for anything."
"I know, Dad, but it has some bearing on what I want to discuss." Again, Steve fell silent. Finally, he started to work his way around to the point. "She insisted...on seeing...everything. I tried to talk her out of it, but I couldn't. When I finally gave in, I thought she was going to turn away from me, but she didn't. In fact, she told me how they were beautiful because they represented loyalty and honor and courage and a whole shopping list of virtues. It was very flattering. She made me feel good about myself in a way that I hadn't been able to feel for quite some time."
Mark nodded, "Olivia has her own way of looking at the world, Steve, and she always chooses to see the good."
"I've noticed that, too," Steve said. "This morning, I thanked her for what she had done for me, and she did the strangest thing. She guided my hands over her face, and told me about some reconstructive plastic surgery she'd had, and said something about her scars being on the inside. She talked about there being ugliness inside her, and she told me that the scars on her face were from a suicide attempt. She said she'd tried four times to kill herself. I know she told you about a lot of things in confidence, but Dad, I need to know anything you're comfortable telling me."
Now it was Mark's turn to be still. Finally, he said, "Steve, I can't volunteer any information, but if you have some specific questions, I can try to answer them. You have to realize, though, there are some things I simply can not tell you."
Steve thought a moment and said, "I understand that. Ok. I know this sounds like an absurd question considering what I just said she told me, but, is Olivia depressed?"
Mark shook his head and said, "Believe it or not, the answer to that question isn't as simple as yes or no."
"Can you explain more?"
"Well, Steve, you know there are two kinds of depression, clinical and situational. Situational depression is a response to one's circumstances. When circumstances change, the depression lifts. Clinical depression is generally caused by an imbalance in the brain and often requires medication. A patient can have good days and bad days, but overall, the depression is not affected by surrounding circumstances."
Steve nodded, "I follow so far, so how is it with Liv?"
"Not being her psychiatrist, I can't really make a diagnosis. I know from what she told me that each of her suicide attempts was in response to a personal crisis. I also know that for a long time her life was so difficult that she was already depressed when these crises came. It could have been either kind of depression, and if it was clinical the crises just pushed her over the edge."
Steve stirred his melting ice cream while forming his next question. "That explains the past. Is she depressed now?"
Mark thought a moment about how to frame his reply. "I'm sure you've noticed that she has a volatile personality."
Steve grinned and rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, I have."
"Well, I think since you've known her she's had some very high highs and some very low lows, but I don't think she's depressed or bipolar. I think it's just been an unbelievably long time since she's allowed herself to feel much of anything, and she's still learning to react appropriately to her emotions. Technically, it's not depression until the symptoms have persisted for two weeks or more."
Steve knew his dad might rebuff his next question, but he had to ask. "Is she seeing a psychiatrist now?"
Mark shrugged and said, "Even if I knew I couldn't tell you that, Steve, and I know you know better than to ask. Given her history, though, I'd be very surprised if she hadn't seen either a psychiatrist or a psychologist at some time."
"What's the difference?"
"A psychologist has a Ph. D. He can listen and counsel you, but he can't prescribe meds. A psychiatrist has an M.D. He can do everything a psychologist does and prescribe medication."
Steve nodded his understanding and studied his ice cream some more before asking, "Would I know if she's depressed?"
"That's hard to say, Steve. Some people hide it well, other's not so good. Some people who've survived suicide attempts speak of it openly to sort of clear the air and let everyone know the truth before rumors get started, but talking about death and suicide is also supposed to be one of the symptoms of a suicidal mind. Some people who are depressed can be very direct and say, 'This is what's wrong, help me.' Others deny it when it's obvious to everyone around them."
Steve groaned in frustration, "So what you're telling me is there's no way to know for sure."
Mark gave his son a sympathetic smile. "I can get you some literature, but the best way to know if someone is depressed is just to listen to her and pay attention to her and be there for her."
Steve nodded. "I have three more questions."
"Shoot."
"Olivia keeps telling me there's a lot I still need to know about her. As far as you know, is there anything in her past that could come between us? Will I still care for her the way I do now? Will I be able to give her the support she needs from me?"
Mark beamed at his son, "Steve, you are a caring, compassionate, sympathetic man. You know she's been forced to do some terrible things, but she's done nothing wrong. She just has a lot of emotional baggage tied to a tragedy in her past. You'll have to accept that she will sometimes need your help in dealing with emotions that you will never begin to understand. She'll need you to be there sometimes when you can't even comprehend why she's hurting. I've seen you do that with your friends before. If anything, you'll be that much more able to do it for her because you love her."
Steve felt himself blushing and he said, "I do, you know? I think I have since we met."
Mark grinned. "I've noticed. What are your other questions?"
Steve took a deep breath and found he wasn't sure he was ready to say what was in his heart. He stood and paced, fiddled with some old photos on the shelf, ate the last of his ice cream, and stalled as long as he could. Finally, Mark put a stop to it.
"Spill it, son. There's no sense in putting it off."
Steve sat back down on the couch, took another deep breath, looked his dad in the eye and said, "I never knew I could love anyone the way I do Olivia. I want to marry her, Dad. I want to ask her right after New Years, as soon as I get back to work. Do you approve?"
Mark grinned and said, "You're an adult, Steve. You don't need my permission."
"I know that, Dad, but your opinion matters to me. How do you feel about it?"
Mark reached over and squeezed his son's shoulder firmly. "I think that would be a good idea for both of you. I think you're a good match, and I think you'll do a good job taking care of each other. I like her a lot, and I'm so glad she cares for you. Yes, I approve completely."
Steve breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Good. Last question. Would you help me pick out a ring? I'm not much good at choosing jewelry."
Mark grinned so hard his face hurt. "It'll have to be white gold, all her jewelry is silver, and with diamonds, quality is always more important than size."
Steve grinned back. "I take it that's a yes."
Mark nodded. "Yeah."
(Chapter 24. December 11. Olivia's place.)
Olivia woke to the golden glow of the rising sun striking her blinds. She and Steve had finally fallen asleep curving into each other like two spoons. The weight of his arm wrapped around her waist made her feel safe and secure. It was a barely familiar, distantly remembered sensation. His body was warm against her back, and the hair on his legs tickled the backs of her thighs. She stifled a giggle for fear of waking him, and slipped out of bed, careful not to let the cool air beneath the covers.
It was barely dawn, and while she had a busy day planned, it didn't need to start for a few more hours. Slipping into her fuzzy yellow robe and her overstuffed elephant slippers, she shuffled to the kitchen. She had remembered to set the timer on the coffee maker the night before, so there was a steaming pot ready and waiting. Once she started some sausage links sizzling in the skillet, she greased and heated the double-burner griddle and whipped together some eggs, milk and vanilla. Then she sliced off some homemade bread, dipped the slices in the batter, and placed them on the griddle. By now, she was humming to herself, some half-remembered melody of happiness and light.
While the French toast was cooking, she got some chocolate syrup and a few strawberries out of the refrigerator. She sprinkled the wet side of the French toast slices with nutmeg and flipped them over. The she rinsed the berries, sliced them almost all the way to the caps, fanned them out, and dipped them in the chocolate. The French toast was done now, and she cut each slice from corner to corner. Fanning the triangles out on two plates, she buttered them, drizzled them with chocolate and real strawberry syrup she had bought at the farmer's market, and garnished them with fresh strawberries.
As she tried to remember the words to song she was humming, she got two stacking lap trays from the cupboard beside the sink, and put the plates on them. Then she took two small glass dishes and filled them with melon balls, bananas, kiwi, and strawberries and poured some honey-lemon dressing over the fruit. As the sausages finished cooking, she slipped off to the mudroom to pick some marigolds, and put them in a bud vase on Steve's tray. The sausages were nicely done when she got back, and she put them on two small plates, freshened her coffee, poured Steve a steaming mug of the potent brew, set the cream and sugar on her tray, stacked one tray on top of the other, and carried the lot into the bedroom, singing, "Skippity-doo- dah, thank You, Lord, for making him for me. And thank you for letting life turn out the way that I always knew it could be." She sang scat for the rest of it, remembering the melody but forgetting the words.
Steve was still sleeping, now with his arms wrapped snugly around her pillow. She was surprised how innocent he looked. She knew from seeing many patients in their sleep that rest often carried away pain, sorrow, and years, but the transformation never failed to amaze her. She set the trays carefully on the nightstand and, still humming her song, woke Steve with gentle kisses at his temple, on his hair, his ear, at the corner of his mouth. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he woke with a smile and she said, "Good morning, darling."
She could see that it was taking him a moment to get his bearings. He rubbed his face and shook his head, and as understanding dawned, the smile he woke with turned into a grin that nearly split his face. "Good morning, beautiful. Is that breakfast I smell?"
"Not just breakfast, babe. Breakfast in bed."
"Mmmmmmmm. You spoil me."
Olivia laughed as she settled cross-legged on the bed beside him, facing him with her tray in front of her and said, "Last night was nice."
Steve smiled widely and said, "I thought so, too. That song you were humming, it must be twenty-five years old."
"My mama used to play it every morning while she and Daddy got ready for work and got all us kids off to school. I can only remember the melody and a couple lines of the lyrics."
Steve grinned smugly and asked, "So, you don't remember the title, do you?"
She shrugged and said, "I'm afraid not. Why? Do you recognize it?"
Steve started to laugh, and said, "Yeah. It's called 'The Happiest Girl..."
"...in the Whole U.S.A!'" Olivia finished, for him. "Well, you must be *so* proud of yourself," she said half-sarcastically.
Steve put his hands in the air as if to show he didn't want a fight and said, "Hey sweetheart, it's *your* song. I would *never* presume to think I was *that* good."
"Yeah, sure you wouldn't," she laughed with him. "So where do you have to be, and when do you have to get there?"
"I ought to call Dad soon, to let him know I'm still here, but I don't have to meet Davis until after lunch. All I need to do before then is get a shower and change my clothes."
She nodded and said, "Ok. I have to go in from noon to eight. It's barely past seven o'clock. You want to hang out here a while, then I can take you home to change? I can drive you in to the hospital, and if your dad's there, he can give you a lift home, and if not, I can."
"Are you sure you want to do that, sweetie? It could mean two extra trips out to Malibu and back. If Dad's going in to work, I could just have him bring me a change of clothes, and I could ride home with him too, then."
Olivia shrugged her shoulders and said, "If it works for you it works for me. I'd love to come out to Malibu, but I have a long day ahead of me, and I'd rather not have to drive back after dark."
"Ok." Steve picked up the bedside phone and said, "I'll call Dad and let him know what's up. Of course," he added hopefully, "you're welcome to come out any way and spend the night."
Olivia giggled and said, "I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you, and I'm not comfortable doing that in your dad's house."
Steve grinned, and said, "Ok. I understand, I wouldn't want Gigglefits to keep my dad awake."
He called home and arranged for Mark to bring him clothes and take him home after physical therapy. Finally, with his plans for the day made, he finished his breakfast with great relish.
"You know," Steve said as he washed the last of his French toast down with a swallow of coffee, "You really are a great cook. That breakfast was delicious."
"Well, thank you, babe." Olivia smiled as she kissed a drop of syrup from his chin. "The only thing I ever thought about doing besides being a doctor was to have one of those cooking shows on PBS. It would be called, 'What Have We Got in the 'Fridge Today?' because that's the way I cook. Open the door, see what's in there, and throw it together. My show would come right between Julia Child and the Frugal Gourmet."
"You really wanted to do that, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Does it surprise you?"
Steve thought about it a minute and said, "No, not really. You seem like the kind of woman who really likes to be at home in the kitchen with family and friends." He smiled dreamily and said, "I can see you on Christmas morning, with about a dozen kids running around, and some man who doesn't know how lucky he is trying to stay out of the way. You're making French toast and sausage and eggs and all the good stuff for everyone before you open the presents. You're smiling and humming a Christmas carol, and you have everything you want in life."
Olivia burst out laughing.
"You find that funny?"
"Steve, I'm thirty-five years old. I'll never have a dozen kids."
"Well," he tried to explain, "Maybe they're not all yours."
"And maybe it's an alternate universe." She set their trays on the nightstand and curled up beside him under the covers with her head resting on his shoulder. "It's a nice fantasy, though. If things had been different for me twenty years ago, it might have been the truth today."
"Actually," Steve said, "I'm glad it's not that way. If it were, you wouldn't be here with me now." He kissed her temple.
She turned toward him with a giggle and said, "You know, we have three hours before we have to think about leaving. We could do a lot in three hours."
Steve grinned and said, "We certainly could." A sudden panic rose in his chest, and he sat bolt upright in the bed and said, "Liv, this may be the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. I have to ask you now. I was so...overcome last night...I've never forgotten before, but last night...I didn't...what I mean is I forgot..."
Olivia giggled again and said, "Relax, babe, I was on the pill a month before I gave you that key. It's effective now."
He looked down at her and grinned. "Well, then, there's nothing to worry about, is there?"
She giggled, pulled him down to her, gave him an electric kiss, and said, "Nope."
"That's what you think." He attacked her with a growl, and she pretended to fight back with a giggle.
Some time later, they were lying in bed together, facing each other across a shared pillow, and whispering sweet nothings.
"Your eyes are the bluest I've ever seen." Olivia said, "I could get lost in them for days."
Steve told her, "I love to watch your mouth when you talk. It's very sexy, and when it smiles, your eyes light up."
"I wish we could spend the rest of our lives here," she said. Her fingers were dancing lightly back and forth across his chest, and every now and then, they landed on one of the scars there.
Steve caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth for a kiss. He stared at her for a long time and waited for her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, he told her, "I have something I need to say to you, but I'm not sure how to go about it. I need you to be patient and listen, ok?"
Olivia gave him that sweet smile he loved so much and nodded.
"On Thanksgiving, when you left Carol and me alone to talk, I asked her what she thought of you, and she said you were too young for me. You were too immature."
"I can't imagine where she got that idea," Olivia said. "I picked her up at the airport in my jammies, with my hair in pigtails, driving the jeep."
Steve laughed. "Well, I told her I thought she was wrong and explained that regardless of how you behaved, you had seen enough of life to be a good match for me."
There was a long pause that Olivia finally decided to break. "Steve, if you want to try this later..."
"No, Liv, now's the time." He choked down the frog in his throat and continued, "Last night, when you...insisted...on seeing... all of me..."
Steve paused again. Olivia stroked his face and said, "Yes?"
"I'm so glad you did that. You taught me something." His eyes were stinging with tears unshed, and, he noticed, she, too was on the verge of weeping. "I could have gone my whole life not...knowing. I didn't think anyone could look at me again and not be...repelled. I can't really explain what I learned last night. I'm not sure I fully understand it, but whatever happens between us from now on, I'll always be grateful and stronger for it. Thank you."
She kissed him softly and took his hand. She guided it up under her bangs and pressed it to her forehead asking, "Do you feel that?"
He felt a lump under the skin, gasped, and said, "Yes."
She guided his hand to her right temple and said, "Do you feel that?"
Again, he could feel a lump. "Yes."
Again and again, she guided his hand over her face. Each time there was a lump or a fissure that shouldn't be there. Finally, she said, "We all have our scars, Steve. It's just that some of us carry them on the inside, and they are not so nobly earned. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "I think so." Touching the knot on her forehead again, he asked, "How did it happen, Liv?"
She took a deep breath and told him, "I was twenty-four years old, and I tried to kill myself by driving a car ninety miles an hour into the base of a cliff. It was my fourth suicide attempt in ten years. I always tried to make it look like an accident because I didn't want people living with the guilt of knowing they weren't there to stop me. Once I swam in under the roots of a tree in the river and tried to drown myself. Another time I 'fell' from the top of the stadium after cheerleading practice, and once I got roaring drunk and ran the jeep in a closed garage. I still don't know what went wrong the last time, but I'm glad something did. I had a gifted plastic surgeon, and no one but me ever notices, but sometimes, when I first look in the mirror in the morning, I see a stranger looking back at me."
Steve kissed her gently on the forehead and said, "When that happens, look into your eyes, Liv. Everything that's in you shines out of your eyes."
He was gratified to see her smile. Then she said, "I guess I'm telling you this now because, if you can see the ugliness inside me and not turn away, maybe you'll understand why I can look at your scars and see beauty there. Maybe you'll understand better what you learned last night. Maybe you'll find out that you really knew it all along."
He stared into her eyes for a long, long time. Finally, he said, "I can see inside you, Liv, and I see no ugliness there. I see a strength that knows no limit. I see a faith greater than any I will ever have. I see a spirit what will not be beaten. I see a genius for living joyfully. I see contagious good humor. I see some sadness you have not let go, but I also see a light of beauty and goodness that will never let the sadness darken you soul. I see everything I want in this world in your eyes, Liv."
He pulled her to him and held her tight. He heard her murmur against his chest, "There's a lot you still don't know about me."
"That's ok," he reassured her, "I know all I need to know already."
It was four fifteen in the afternoon, and Steve was riding home alongside his dad. They had decided to rent a movie and spend the evening together. Mark could tell his son wanted to discuss some important matters by the way he sat so still and quiet in the passenger seat. He decided not to push; Steve would broach the subject, whatever it may be, in his own good time.
When they got home, Mark asked, "You hungry?"
To his surprise, Steve answered, "No, not really. Look, Dad, I'm going for a walk on the beach. I...need to think about some things. I'll need to talk to you when I get back. Will that be ok?"
"Sure son, whatever you want. I'll make some dinner, maybe you'll feel like eating when you get back."
Steve nodded and headed out. As he set the table and prepared the meal, Mark kept peeking out the sliding glass doors to the deck to check on his son. By a quarter to five, Steve still hadn't gone for much of a walk. He just stood there throwing rocks into the ocean. As Mark watched, Steve turned south and started to jog along the beach at an easy pace. He knew he wouldn't be gone long; there was only a half an hour of daylight left.
Mark was pleased and quite amazed at his son's recovery. Just four months ago, he had thought Steve might never walk again, and now he was jogging on the beach. Jesse and Amanda had been right about Olivia. Where his son was concerned, she somehow knew things no one else could. He'd seen her with Steve on several occasions when he was ill at ease or frustrated or worried, and somehow, she had put things right. On the one hand, it disturbed Mark that she could read his own son even better than he could, but on the other hand, it gratified him immensely. He knew Steve was in love with her, and he was glad she was so sensitive to his moods. His son deserved someone as compassionate and nurturing as Olivia.
Half an hour later, Mark heard Steve come bounding up the steps from his downstairs apartment. He'd moved back downstairs only a week after he'd returned home, and had been staying there for the past three weeks. Mark had to smile. Things in the Sloan household were slowly getting back to normal. Soon Steve would be back to work, and, as much as he worried about his son, Mark would be happy for him then.
Steve sniffed the air and said, "Mmm. It smells great. What's for dinner?"
Mark laughed and said, "Oh, so, now you're hungry!"
Steve shrugged good-naturedly and said, "What can I say? Thinking gives me an appetite."
Mark laughed, "Everything gives you an appetite. Do you want to talk now?"
Steve shook his head and said, "I want to eat now, but I still need to talk to you about some things later, ok, Dad?"
Mark nodded, "Ok, son. That's fine."
"So, you never said, what's for dinner?"
"Well, it seemed like you might be in the mood for some comfort food, so I fixed a pot of vegetable soup and some fresh rolls. I figured we could have ice cream for dessert if you want."
"Thanks, Dad, that sounds great."
The two men ate in virtual silence, Steve dedicating himself to the task as if it were a religious ritual, Mark trying unobtrusively to observe his son and divine the matters that had him so preoccupied. Finally, Mark could no longer maintain the silence.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, son. Is everything all right?"
Steve shrugged and said, "Nothing's wrong, really. It's just that what's on my mind doesn't make for very good dinner conversation. After we eat and clean up, maybe we can go into the living room and talk."
"Ok, Steve, but if something's bothering you, putting it off won't make it any easier."
"I know, Dad, but I want to enjoy my dinner before we tackle anything more serious than deciding what flavor ice cream to have for dessert."
They finished the meal in silence, cleared the table, and opened a half- gallon of Neapolitan ice cream Mark had bought the day before. Steve, as usual, took mostly chocolate, and Mark dove into the strawberry. After putting the carton back into the refrigerator, Steve caught his father's eye and jerked his head in the direction of the living room.
Mark gave a silent sigh of relief. Steve was finally ready to talk.
"So," he said, "I guess this is the kind of discussion that will go down better with ice cream, huh?"
Steve smiled a little and said, "I guess, or maybe I'm just tired of putting it off."
In the living room, Mark settled comfortably into the easy chair as Steve took a seat on the couch. He noticed with some pride that Steve made sure to keep his feet flat on the floor and pointing straight ahead as Olivia had recommended yesterday. Steve still hoped to go back to work by New Years, and he was doing everything possible to improve his odds. Mark admired his determination.
They each enjoyed a couple spoonfuls of ice cream before Mark opened the conversation. "Ok, son, what's on your mind?"
"Olivia."
Mark laughed and said, "I figured that, but could you be more specific?"
"On Thanksgiving, when I called you into the bathroom to help me, did you happen to notice my scars?"
Mark thought a moment and said, "Not especially. I was more concerned with helping you to sit down before you fell down, but I imagine they're pretty bad."
Steve nodded. "It's been bothering me for a couple months. I know it seems vain and shallow, but I'd never felt ugly before. It really had me down, maybe I'd even call it depressed."
"Son, you're lucky to be alive. Consider that and a few scars might not matter so much."
"I tried that, Dad, and it didn't help." Steve lapsed into silence again for several moments. When he continued, it was with some hesitation. "I...guess you have a good enough idea what...Olivia and I did last night."
"Son, you're both adults. You don't need my approval for anything."
"I know, Dad, but it has some bearing on what I want to discuss." Again, Steve fell silent. Finally, he started to work his way around to the point. "She insisted...on seeing...everything. I tried to talk her out of it, but I couldn't. When I finally gave in, I thought she was going to turn away from me, but she didn't. In fact, she told me how they were beautiful because they represented loyalty and honor and courage and a whole shopping list of virtues. It was very flattering. She made me feel good about myself in a way that I hadn't been able to feel for quite some time."
Mark nodded, "Olivia has her own way of looking at the world, Steve, and she always chooses to see the good."
"I've noticed that, too," Steve said. "This morning, I thanked her for what she had done for me, and she did the strangest thing. She guided my hands over her face, and told me about some reconstructive plastic surgery she'd had, and said something about her scars being on the inside. She talked about there being ugliness inside her, and she told me that the scars on her face were from a suicide attempt. She said she'd tried four times to kill herself. I know she told you about a lot of things in confidence, but Dad, I need to know anything you're comfortable telling me."
Now it was Mark's turn to be still. Finally, he said, "Steve, I can't volunteer any information, but if you have some specific questions, I can try to answer them. You have to realize, though, there are some things I simply can not tell you."
Steve thought a moment and said, "I understand that. Ok. I know this sounds like an absurd question considering what I just said she told me, but, is Olivia depressed?"
Mark shook his head and said, "Believe it or not, the answer to that question isn't as simple as yes or no."
"Can you explain more?"
"Well, Steve, you know there are two kinds of depression, clinical and situational. Situational depression is a response to one's circumstances. When circumstances change, the depression lifts. Clinical depression is generally caused by an imbalance in the brain and often requires medication. A patient can have good days and bad days, but overall, the depression is not affected by surrounding circumstances."
Steve nodded, "I follow so far, so how is it with Liv?"
"Not being her psychiatrist, I can't really make a diagnosis. I know from what she told me that each of her suicide attempts was in response to a personal crisis. I also know that for a long time her life was so difficult that she was already depressed when these crises came. It could have been either kind of depression, and if it was clinical the crises just pushed her over the edge."
Steve stirred his melting ice cream while forming his next question. "That explains the past. Is she depressed now?"
Mark thought a moment about how to frame his reply. "I'm sure you've noticed that she has a volatile personality."
Steve grinned and rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, I have."
"Well, I think since you've known her she's had some very high highs and some very low lows, but I don't think she's depressed or bipolar. I think it's just been an unbelievably long time since she's allowed herself to feel much of anything, and she's still learning to react appropriately to her emotions. Technically, it's not depression until the symptoms have persisted for two weeks or more."
Steve knew his dad might rebuff his next question, but he had to ask. "Is she seeing a psychiatrist now?"
Mark shrugged and said, "Even if I knew I couldn't tell you that, Steve, and I know you know better than to ask. Given her history, though, I'd be very surprised if she hadn't seen either a psychiatrist or a psychologist at some time."
"What's the difference?"
"A psychologist has a Ph. D. He can listen and counsel you, but he can't prescribe meds. A psychiatrist has an M.D. He can do everything a psychologist does and prescribe medication."
Steve nodded his understanding and studied his ice cream some more before asking, "Would I know if she's depressed?"
"That's hard to say, Steve. Some people hide it well, other's not so good. Some people who've survived suicide attempts speak of it openly to sort of clear the air and let everyone know the truth before rumors get started, but talking about death and suicide is also supposed to be one of the symptoms of a suicidal mind. Some people who are depressed can be very direct and say, 'This is what's wrong, help me.' Others deny it when it's obvious to everyone around them."
Steve groaned in frustration, "So what you're telling me is there's no way to know for sure."
Mark gave his son a sympathetic smile. "I can get you some literature, but the best way to know if someone is depressed is just to listen to her and pay attention to her and be there for her."
Steve nodded. "I have three more questions."
"Shoot."
"Olivia keeps telling me there's a lot I still need to know about her. As far as you know, is there anything in her past that could come between us? Will I still care for her the way I do now? Will I be able to give her the support she needs from me?"
Mark beamed at his son, "Steve, you are a caring, compassionate, sympathetic man. You know she's been forced to do some terrible things, but she's done nothing wrong. She just has a lot of emotional baggage tied to a tragedy in her past. You'll have to accept that she will sometimes need your help in dealing with emotions that you will never begin to understand. She'll need you to be there sometimes when you can't even comprehend why she's hurting. I've seen you do that with your friends before. If anything, you'll be that much more able to do it for her because you love her."
Steve felt himself blushing and he said, "I do, you know? I think I have since we met."
Mark grinned. "I've noticed. What are your other questions?"
Steve took a deep breath and found he wasn't sure he was ready to say what was in his heart. He stood and paced, fiddled with some old photos on the shelf, ate the last of his ice cream, and stalled as long as he could. Finally, Mark put a stop to it.
"Spill it, son. There's no sense in putting it off."
Steve sat back down on the couch, took another deep breath, looked his dad in the eye and said, "I never knew I could love anyone the way I do Olivia. I want to marry her, Dad. I want to ask her right after New Years, as soon as I get back to work. Do you approve?"
Mark grinned and said, "You're an adult, Steve. You don't need my permission."
"I know that, Dad, but your opinion matters to me. How do you feel about it?"
Mark reached over and squeezed his son's shoulder firmly. "I think that would be a good idea for both of you. I think you're a good match, and I think you'll do a good job taking care of each other. I like her a lot, and I'm so glad she cares for you. Yes, I approve completely."
Steve breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Good. Last question. Would you help me pick out a ring? I'm not much good at choosing jewelry."
Mark grinned so hard his face hurt. "It'll have to be white gold, all her jewelry is silver, and with diamonds, quality is always more important than size."
Steve grinned back. "I take it that's a yes."
Mark nodded. "Yeah."